


the shadow of patroclus

by LNS



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: AU, Hades - Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, i had to look up the definition, my first work but its lame, patroclus is sad little twink living in the underworld, some big words, they end up together, trying to make myself sound smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LNS/pseuds/LNS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Patroclus' soul reaches the underworld before Achilles'. Patroclus watches his soul form as he makes the transition from the living to the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shadow of patroclus

There was a shadow. 

When had Patroclus arrived to this moonless sea? The familiar idyllic skin of Achilles that lit up his world went so briskly as the final thoughts of Hector standing above him faded away. His golden skin could not compare to the shadow of this death. Where had Achilles been? Was he lost among the other souls that dwelled in the laps of black water against the rocky shore? Maybe it was Patroclus' torment. A nightmare where Achilles would walk alongside him from one sea to the next, and they could not see or hear each other's presence. The absolute indefatigability of this realm was hopeful. Patroclus could not stride for long without his heels being cut from the sharp stones of this dingy sea. When he grew tired, he grew restless. Patroclus continued to feel Achilles and all his strength. He could taste the movement of Achilles' sweat on his lips as he fought for him. The quick draw of breath as he ran down to siege Troy. The work of this demigod, Aristos Achaion. Would this name still sustain even in the afterlife? These words were forgotten to Patroclus. All the time he had been walking, who knew what waves he had seen without Achilles. The breeze was sharp and cold and stung with epiphany of a living world. A world that forgot one's name and story. Achilles would not be burdened, the stories of his fighting would thrive and inspire. Achilles would be name everyone will know and sacrifice to. A name to present to those who prove themselves better than the rest. A divine blood. Maybe blood that had once been in Achilles. Would Patroclus' blood be so bold? The blood that had marked his trail to the underworld? 

Patroclus would watch the moon rise each night, only to remember it was not the moon. It was a white vision. One that contrasted the dark tumbling tides it floated on. Colossal, vague. Achilles would stand before him, skin so white it was bone. The hero's eyes closed in a daydream, he would never know of the scraps of armor he was adorned in. These dreams would depict Achilles in a brawl that was slowed immensely. They could go on for hours, or minutes. Patroclus would take these moments to rest and admire that expressionless warrior that he had slept beside every night. The bulge of Achilles' deltoids or the curve of his abdominals made the man weep. The dusty shade of his skin that no longer gleamed. Patroclus remembered when it was the same color as the sun. It had been so just before Patroclus took his place on Achilles' chariot. It had been so, just before Patroclus died. 

These nightmares would fall and the moon would disappear again. All Patroclus could hear were the waves. 

One evening this performance came again. It was unlike previous viewings. Achilles had a spear, and would thrust to let it go. Right before the shaft slipped through his palms... Achilles was gone. There wasn't a sign of Achilles for nights afterwards. 

The ocean was blissful. Memories of Thetis would stir and cause Patroclus to become shaky. He thought it ironic he was constantly by the sea, Thetis' domain. The tides would freeze then and Patroclus was forced to stand back from the shoreline. Once settled onto the soaked stones of the only ground he knew he tried to imagine Achilles next to him. The aroma of the sea that flowed with him or the deep breaths of solitude they would share together. 

During one of these endless nights while waiting for the moon - for Achilles, death became darker. The splash of the waves were not seen and the only sense of water Patroclus had was the sound of the sea trickling beneath his feet. A voice came. It was a long note that changed pitches slightly, a female voice. Multiple voices came, all singing a distinct pitch of their own, sounding eerie and turning to a shrill as the moon finally rose. It was Achilles, this spectrum of a warrior. Muscles moved with a fiery eagerness no man could posses. It would move in time and Patroclus' eyes could not keep up. Once it decelerated to the speed to which Patroclus could see Achilles' veins pulsing, something had gone wrong. He stood with no breath escaping his mouth and all in Hades had done the same. If there was time, Patroclus could not sense it now, if there was a light nearby, Patroclus would not see it. He was focused on this one man, before an arrow had entered the picture and struck him in the back. The man fell and his body became so white it caused the other dead souls to scream until it had burst into darkness. Leaving the millions of dead souls to reminisce and scorn at the light they had long been without. 

Patroclus was convinced this was a work of his subconscious. It had to be the darkness playing these tricks on his eyes. Where else would I find the light if not from Achilles? Patroclus thought, crouching down to his knees. If the manifestation was possible here, he had wept. The press of his wrists into his stomach would have bruised, and his fingernails would have scratched the skin from his legs. 

Would he be a coward? Even in death? Was the standard of a companion the same here? It had to be, Patroclus promised that he would not let Achilles down, even if in the living world he felt like he had. The tides became softer and his loneliness became subtle. 

He would still wait for the moon, the next evening he had expected nothing and nothing arrived. 

The night after he gave the idea of sleep an attempt. Hades, he had assumed, would not give him this relief. Once he closed his eyes a burning touch would sweep over his skin. This sensation would remind him of Achilles' warm embrace and then he could not sleep. The touch became more apparent and then he realized it was not a trick of Hades. A mass was beginning to form and Patroclus stood in distress. He could sense this unknown phantom in front of him. He could tell it was watching him. Patroclus reached out and felt a limb, his hands triggering a light that did not blind him but yet he saw nothing when he peered into its depths. It was soft and felt alive. There was a heat coming from this sun and Patroclus' withered hand dropped when he saw the cuts of his fingers glowing like a mass against this white light, and a palm reaching out to grasp his own. 

“Patroclus? Is that you?” 

Patroclus looked into the head of this fire, a body standing before him. The heat protruding from it calming him as he felt himself wrapped in the arms of the man who held that kind of warmth. The chorus of shrills echoing behind as he came into view. 

“Achilles?” 

Patroclus released his hands from the form to grasp its cheeks, his thumb gliding against bones that pierced again its lifeless skin. A ray of clouds and sun clenched to Achilles' silhouette as he nodded and his face became clear. His soul had found its way through the earth to appear at Patroclus' side. There was a glow in the godly contours of his face. Achilles was dead. No more would the nightmares of a pale hero, doomed to fail, fog Patroclus' mind. He did not know how death had changed himself. He assumed he was still not strong, or notable. Yet Achilles' spirit was more than before. A radiance that held its own would single him out in this gloomy underworld. With endless wandering and sleepless nights, Patroclus had never been able to approach this soul. He only had to reach out and find the light that was trailing in the darkness behind him. The shadow of his loneliness had faded and a new one grew from the golden smile Achilles had beaming across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> first au.. . .. . comments/kudos are appreciated !!!
> 
> my writing will get better i promise


End file.
